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tail, looked intact.
    So thrilled was I at its rescue that the sound of the bell was almost inaudible. Wysteria had taken to keeping a bell at her side to summon me from my room, where she assumed I spent my time. At the sound of the bell, I was to drop whatever I was doing and make her tea, or fetch another blanket for her lap, or commence some tedious chore she had devised for me. I waved to the boy and sadly left the walk, sliding swiftly down the ladder.
    All during lunch—for that was the reason Wysteria had called me—I wondered about the boy, where he’d come from and what he intended to do with the Dragon. If he was a typical boy, like the ones in the village, with their slingshots and marbles, he would no doubt run home with it, not knowing what he carried in his hands. He would take it apart to see how it worked and put it back together again, forgetting some important piece. He’d fly it until it was broken and full of holes and no longer of use to anyone and then abandon it to the garbage heap. If I hadn’t been so careless, I would still have had the kite in my possession.
    “Miranda, this soup is too salty. Whatever have you put into it?”
    “Nothing, Wysteria. It is the same as always.”
    At that moment, the Hounds suddenly stood up and began to growl and I returned to the kitchen to try the soup myself. It was no saltier than any other soup I had made, but I added another cup of water just the same.
    “I will do better next time,” I said, bringing out a new bowl and placing it on the table beside her.
    “Never mind,” she sighed. “It will have to do.” The Hounds continued growling.
    “Get ahold of yourselves!” Wysteria scolded them. They whimpered, standing rigid with attention, their noses pointing toward the front entrance. There was a faint scuffling sound outside, followed by a firm knock. The Hounds went wild, baying and running about in circles. I noticed a shadow descend over Wysteria’s ashen face. I started toward the door, but she snapped her fingers at me.
    “I will answer it.” She stood slowly, wrapping her shawl about her thin shoulders, and, with considerable effort, walked toward the giant oaken door, grasped the handle and pulled it open. The Hounds made a dash for freedom. They were not guard dogs by nature, and after running around the visitor a few times, realizing that he did not fear them and had not come bearing food, they lost interest and bounded off.
    On the threshold stood the boy with the red cap, holding the Dragon at his side. He was thin and wiry, with a splash of freckles across his nose, and wild, curly black hair. From his stance and apparent lack of trepidation at the sight of Wysteria and the Hounds, I could tell that he knew nothing about us.
    He swept off his cap. “Good afternoon, mum,” he said, a slight accent gracing his speech.
    “I found this on the beach.” He proudly held up the Dragon in one hand and its tail in the other.
    “That is fortunate for you, young man, but I fail to see how that has anything to do with me.” Wysteria’s tone was sharp, and I flinched as I always did at the acidity of her words, but the boy did not hesitate.
    “Not you,” he said. “The girl. The pretty one, with the long, dark hair.” I peered out from behind Wysteria. “Her,” he said, pointing to me. “The kite is for her.”
    “Miranda?” Wysteria turned to me. Her eyes narrowed. She seemed perturbed, not only by the boy’s intrusion, but also by the reference to my hair and my being pretty, for of course we never spoke of such things. Fortunately, I could see that she had no interest in kites or knowledge of her husband’s creation.
    “I know nothing of it,” I said calmly, surprising even myself. She turned back to the boy and I smiled widely and gave him a nod.
    “There, you see, young man. We know nothing about the owner of your kite. We are very busy here and must get on with our work. Please do not intrude upon our solitude